We're Standing Still In Time (Jack Stone)

[Malice]

The blood on our hands is the wine
We offer as sacrifice

The Outfit

Malice's green-gold eyes were simply anchored on the weather-proof analog clock as it ticked away the minutes. Even as she paced, her gaze stayed on it. Late. They were late.

As always.

But still, it made her nervous. Some of her old friends were supposed to drop by on their way to Canada. Were they really? She'd be mad if they didn't - She would've dressed up for nothing.

Her deeply tanned hands smoothed over her white blazer then proceeded to shove the sleeves up to her elbows. Sure, it was cold out, but she didn't really feel it right now.

She was jumpy.

What if her father had already gone through with his damned plan? What if everything was different back home? So many questions ran through her mind that she could already feel a migrane coming on. Malice didn't like to wait. It made her mad.

Didn't they know that?

She finally stopped her pacing in order to yank her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and fire up one of the cancer sticks. A deep breath later and she was already feeling calmer; Though she could still feel her power swirl and simmer just below her skin.

Malice needed to get it out soon or she would burst. Holding it in made her twitchy and highly volatile; prone to outbursts more frequently.

"Shit. Fucking idiots." She murmured under her breath - They'd get hell for making her wait this long.

She wasn't in the mood for games.

[Jack Stone]

He pushed his hair back, making it sweep and stay still and keep out of his cold eyes. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, taking in his own appearance and scratched the tear drop tattoo that was underneath his right eye before turning of the light and left his room.

He didn't know where his guard was exactly, nor did he care to know and took the opportunity to be out on his own. Crap, did I bring my cigarettes? He stopped and started fishing around for him and found them in his pocket. Taking in a sigh of relief, he started walking and headed to the courtyard.

Usually he smoked indoors, but today he decided to go outside and do it, seeing as it as just his type of weather. He loved days where it was dark, cloudy and cold, guess it described his own personality well. When he opened the door that led to the courtyard, all he saw was a lone figure standing there and it was clear that she wasn't all to happy. He closed the door behind him, putting his hoodie over his hair and took out a cigarette, lighting it and inhaled deeply.

Seems like someone has hell to pay when they met up with you. He commented, exhaling through his nose and mouth.

[Malice]

The door to the courtyard squeaked open and her almond-shaped eyes sought out the intruder. Even with his hood up, she could still easily recognize him. Jack Stone, a long-time patient in this hell. And, if she wasn't mistaken, he was from New Orleans just as she was.

Malice took a drag off of her cigarette and let her eyes return to the clock. Was the damn thing broken? She felt like she had been out here for hours, waiting, and yet it said that it had only been thirty minutes. She let out a slow hiss and knelt to lift up a palm-sized rock. She weighed it in her hand and smirked before launching it at the clock. It hit it's target with perfect aim and shattered the glass before knocking it off of it's perch. Upon hitting the cobblestones, the clock splintered into a dozen little pieces.

Not quite satisfied with the damage, her eyes found Jack once more and she smiled. "Brilliant deduction, sweetie." Her accent was heavy, a mix of Southern, French, and Cherokee.

"I hate waiting on things. It pisses me off."

She finished off her cigarette and flicked it into a nearby bush then stuck her hands in her pockets. Even the weather was shitty today. She preferred the sunshine and insane heat to cold and rain. When her mother was alive, she used to tease her by saying that she was 'sunshine-activated'. If it wasn't sunny out, Malice would be more lethargic and well-behaved. But when it was beautiful, she would be loud, energetic, and always into trouble.

But here in this hell, it was almost always raining and even when it was warm, it was never New Orleans warm.

Made her resolve to escape that much stronger.

She would go back home, even if it killed her.

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[Jack Stone]

He almost laughed when she threw the rock and hit the clock, shattering the glass that surrounded it and wondered if anyone would even find out who did that. He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose and created smoke that circled the air.

He just smirked from her remark and looked at the door, wondering if the person who was suppose to be meeting up with her would have the balls to show up after hearing the racket that was she causing. Her accent was heavy with southern drawl, mixed in with French was......Indian? Most people who had that kind of accent were from the south, mainly New Orleans.

Patience if a virtue. He said in a teasing voice and chuckled.

Judging by your accent...your from New Orleans, aren't you? He asked. He himself had a abit of a southern accent, it wasn't as heavy as other though.

[Malice]

Malice ran a hand through her hair as she looked the male over. While she knew his name and his home, she didn't know much more than that. Why was he in here? What was his "talent"?

Why was she so suddenly curious?

With a sigh, she settled her hands on her hips and turned her eyes on the sky, waiting for the downpour that could happen at an given point in time? "I'm not the most virtuous person, therefore I have very little patience." She shrugged, thoughts wandering to all of the things she'd done in the past and the things she could possibly do in the future. The possibilities were endless, and she was liking every single on of them.

She just had to get out of this hell first.

"Yeah. I'm from New Orleans. Was it so obvious?" She smirked over at him and kicked a second rock into the wall. "I'm guessing the same for you as well?" Though he certainly wasn't cajun, he still held a tinge of the cajun accent. "By the way, if you don't mind me asking, how much cash did you put in those tats? Several thousand, judging by the quality. Am I right?"

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[Jack Stone]

Her reply just made him chuckle lightly and he scratched the back of his head out of habit and leaned back against the wall, glancing up at the sky before turning his attention back to her once more. Just a smidge, you sound like you just stepped off of a plantation. He teased.

He nodded. Yeah I was born and raised there......but my parents are from Washington State so my accent isn't that heavy. He admitted.

The mention of his tats always made him look down at his arms where he could see them practically anytime. I was good friends with the tattoo artist around New Orleans, so I could get mine for discounts but it cost alot of money. He said and smiled. What about you, have any ink? He asked.